


Overture in F Minor

by akeijis



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Music, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Classical Music, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Strangers to Lovers, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23549890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akeijis/pseuds/akeijis
Summary: There was no doubt it was beautiful.  Beautiful and rich and full and painful.  Each note was like a knife into him, the sound filleting him open and burning him in white hot passion, but he could not look away.  The man’s arm was moving back and forth, drawing note after pained note from the instrument as though he was confiding his deepest feelings into it.It felt as though he was screaming.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	Overture in F Minor

**Author's Note:**

> This concept has been rotting my brain for a while now and I need it out of me, so please enjoy.

Ferdinand first saw him on a dreary night sometime in late September. The sound of rain blended into the white noise of the concert hall, mixing with the idle conversation as the audience waited for the curtain to rise. He’d only gone out on such a night to support his classmate, a girl he’d met merely a month prior at their freshman orientation. University was still such a new concept to him, but she had seemed already comfortable here. For him, not so much. Making friends was not his strongest suit, and so when this one seemed willing to accept his grasping hand, he clung to her. 

Her name was Edelgard, and while they did not share a major, they did share Classic Literature 103, and that was enough. Ferdinand himself was studying history, while Edelgard was in political science, with a minor in music. That had surprised him. Music, of all things. She had explained that she’d been playing the piano since childhood, and that while she did not expect to become a professional pianist, it was something she found true pleasure in. That, and her duet partner went to this school, and it would give her more opportunities to play with him. 

Despite his love of opera, and music of all sorts, Ferdinand didn’t know much in the way of studying it, and their conversations tended to stay more focused on literature. But, when Edelgard announced to him one evening that she was to be accompanying her partner in a recital, he happily accepted the invitation to attend. It would be his first time attending a recital, which he’d looked up to note the difference between that and a concert performance. This recital was to only be her and her partner, playing a few pieces for piano and double bass. He had been looking forward to it. 

The rain had soaked his hair, and the excitement he’d had about seeing the performance was dampened slightly by the thought of how he’d have to sit here wet during the show. But regardless, he’d sat in the third row, on the end where he could find a spot by himself. Glancing around the recital hall, he did recognize a few of the faces. Others from their literature class, as well as a few he’d seen Edelgard speaking to before. There were many more faces he didn’t recognize, and he noted that the relatively small room was full. There were even a few people standing against the back wall, unable to find seats. 

They did not have to wait long, and just as his watch ticked to 7 o’clock, the lights in the house dimmed, and the curtain parted. The stage was empty, save for a music stand set front and center, and a grand piano offset behind it. Only a moment later, there was polite applause as the performers took the stage. Ferdinand instantly recognized Edelgard, her hair swept elegantly to the side in a ponytail that cascaded over her shoulder and a long black dress, but the man she was with was... Well, he did not look as Ferdinand had expected. 

He was tall, far taller than she was, with a gaunt frame and clothed in a black suit that was tailored to fit him nicely. His dark hair fell over one eye, while the other that he could see was thin, and piercing. He carried with him a folder in one hand, and a dark wood bass in the other. 

The two of them took center stage, giving small bows, before separating to their respective spots. Edelgard gracefully took her seat at the piano, while the other man placed his folder onto the music stand and began organizing his papers. After a moment of preparation, the two exchanged a look, and with small nods, both readied their instruments to play. 

Ferdinand knew what piano and bass sounded like. He’d been to orchestral performances before. He listened to classical music fairly regularly. He settled in, trying to ignore the dampness of his clothes and hair, and prepared to enjoy the performance. 

The piano filled the room, beautiful and soft, just as he’d imagined she’d play, and he let his eyes close. He wanted to feel surrounded by the sound, let himself get lost in the performance. But he had not quite anticipated what would be coming next. 

The man’s bow crossed the strings of his bass, and the sound that emanated from it made Ferdinand’s chest clench. His eyes opened wide, staring at the man on the stage as he played. 

There was no doubt it was beautiful. Beautiful and rich and full and _painful_. Each note was like a knife into him, the sound filleting him open and burning him in white hot passion, but he could not look away. The man’s arm was moving back and forth, drawing note after pained note from the instrument as though he was confiding his deepest feelings into it. 

It felt as though he was screaming. 

They played on, and the room around them had stiffened. It seemed Ferdinand was not the only one struck by such painful emotion, everyone was captivated by them. He could not quite comprehend how such beautiful music made him feel as though every nerve in his body was a live wire, one false move away from sparking and setting him entirely ablaze. It hurt. He did not know how much more of this he could take, and yet, he could not bear the idea of it stopping. He wanted to keep feeling this. To keep feeling as though he was being skinned alive by this man, the bow slicing his flesh each time it ran across the strings. 

New dampness covered his face, and it took nearly three pieces for him to realize he was crying. 

They played, and the man never looked up from his stand, but Ferdinand noticed that his eyes were not moving. He was not turning his pages; he was not reading the music before him. He was playing as though in that moment he existed entirely alone, in a world that was just him and his instrument, and the sound of the piano. Ferdinand was enraptured by it. He wanted to see it. He wanted to see that world, wanted to see what was making this man scream out so desperately. He searched the man’s expression, but there was nothing there but a furrowed brow and a slight frown. 

He could have listened to that torturously beautiful sound forever, but after about forty minutes, it reached a crescendo before trailing off. The silence that filled the room when they’d finished was deafening, and lonely. It lasted what seemed like an eternity, as Edelgard rose from the piano bench and stepped forward to meet the man in the center of the stage. The two gave small bows again and it was only then that the audience seemed to regain itself. The uproar of applause came suddenly and all at once, but Ferdinand did not clap. He was staring at the man, his eyes still damp and red from his tears that had not yet stopped falling. 

It was then, he decided, that he fell in love with Hubert von Vestra. 

—

The realization came slowly. He’d found Edelgard the day after to congratulate her on the performance, and to try but ultimately fail to express just what heart wrenching emotion they portrayed. But for all his words, none of them felt right in describing it. He couldn’t articulate just how… painful it was? Yes, but that wasn’t quite it. How it felt like it was ripping his heart from his chest and throwing salt into the wound just to make him burn more. That was closer, but it hardly seemed like a compliment. 

To his surprise, Edelgard merely laughed at his attempts. 

“I hear that often. Hubert has a way of making people feel things they didn’t know they could.”

That was an understatement, but he knew what she meant. Honestly there was no way to not understate those emotions. All Ferdinand knew was that he had to feel it again. He had to. Because the loneliness that the silence at the end of their performance had brought hadn’t left him. It persisted like an aching bruise beneath his skin, throbbing gently around his heart. 

They didn’t perform that often, as he tragically found out after asking when he could listen to them again. The university required a few recitals throughout the term, but besides that, most of their playing was confined to practice rooms and private performances for their professors. 

But that did not stop him. He pestered her—even he will admit that it was pestering—asking her nearly every chance he got when their next performance would be. He even went as far as to ask if he could come watch them practice, but she explained that Hubert was a rather private person, and preferred to not play for others unless he had to. He was beginning to think that he would just have to accept that loneliness and learn to live with it when it happened.

It was early October, and he was meeting Edelgard for lunch before their class, something that had become routine for them after a few weeks into the term. Their usual spot was a cafe not too far from campus, and a short walk from the humanities building. It was convenient for both of them, and Ferdinand had become rather fond of it. He stepped inside, glancing around to the table they nearly always shared, and suddenly felt his chest tighten. She was sitting there, hair pulled back into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, leaning across the table and speaking to a man whose back was to him. Ferdinand recognized the dark hair and thin frame. His hand clutched the strap of his bag that was slung across his chest. He felt like running. 

Edelgard caught his eyes and waved him over, a smile on her face, and Ferdinand’s feet carried him forward. Nervous was not a feeling he was used to, but that is what he was. Nervous, as the man turned to look at him, his thin, piercing gaze falling on him. 

Time momentarily stopped as they made eye contact, and Ferdinand’s soul felt suddenly on display, as though this man had stripped him down to his core and exposed him with just a glance. His breath caught in his lungs and the simple act of breathing escaped him. But the eternity that he stared into the man’s pale green eyes passed too soon, and his back was turned once again, freeing Ferdinand from his captivity.

He continued forward, trying to regain some semblance of himself, and fell into the open seat at the side of the square table. 

“This is the classmate I was telling you about.” Edelgard motioned at Ferdinand before returning her attention to Hubert. “He is the one who was asking to see you perform again.”

“I—” Ferdinand opened his mouth, embarrassed that _that_ was the introduction he was given. He cleared his throat, nerves be damned. “I am Ferdinand von Aegir.” 

Now that he was closer, he was able to take in Hubert’s appearance more fully. His dark hair was tousled and a bit greasy, and his very pale skin made the heavy circles under his eyes stand out distinctly. His high cheekbones lead to a sharp jawline, and the collar of his shirt hung low enough to reveal the evidence of a tattoo on the side of his neck. His hands had similar black ink on his fingers, two of which were twirling an unlit cigarette between them. 

Ferdinand wet his lips subconsciously.

“Hubert von Vestra.” Hubert extended a hand to him, and Ferdinand mentally kicked himself back into gear to take it before there was any sort of awkward hesitation. “I’ve heard you won’t leave Edelgard alone about it.” 

“I—” Flustered slightly again, Ferdinand shot Edelgard a small glare. She was still smiling, and he mentally cursed her for the impression she’d given this man of him; of some eager puppy wanting to hear him play again. The fact that he was incredibly eager to hear it again was entirely irrelevant and would not be taken into consideration at that time. “I was simply asking her a question, that is all. But, regardless, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Have you gone to order food yet?”

Edelgard nodded and Ferdinand sighed, pushing himself up to make his way towards the counter. Really, Edelgard should have warned him that he’d be joining them, or at least given a better explanation of his character to this man. He would simply have to correct her mistake. The line was short and he ordered fairly quickly, taking his number back to their table to await his food. The two of them were talking when he arrived, but fell silent as he sat down. He looked between them, and watched Hubert roll his eyes at her. 

They talked for a bit, Edelgard directing the conversation to their upcoming class and the paper they were currently writing for it. Hubert did not really participate, giving a word or two here and there when something was directed at him, but otherwise he kept quiet. Edelgard took the liberty of explaining that he was a music major, and two years above them. They’d known each other since childhood, their families having been close, and had been duet partners ever since she started playing. Ferdinand tried to not seem too interested, but in reality he was. He was very interested in learning anything about Hubert’s playing, although the man himself seemed none too eager to share.

“Oh, actually,” Edelgard continued, finishing off the sandwich that she’d been eating during their conversation. Ferdinand was only about half way through his own, having gotten it later than her, and Hubert only had a coffee in front of him. “That reminds me, Hubert, I’m not able to practice tonight, I have a meeting to prepare for student council elections.” 

Hubert hummed, his long fingers tracing the handle of the cup, and Ferdinand found himself staring at them. They were heavily calloused. 

“That’s fine. Although, I do have a new song for you to look over. I’ll give it to you tomorrow.” 

“Is it for the—”

“ _Hubert._ ”

She was cut off as the door to the cafe opened, and her eyes fell on the man who’d entered and spoke. Ferdinand turned to look as well. He was tall, with long ash blond hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. He was staring at their table, and Hubert sighed, pushing himself to his feet and picking up his bag. 

“We’ll discuss it later.” He nodded to Edelgard before looking at Ferdinand for a long moment. It was hard to discern the expression on his face, but there was that familiar crease to his brow and frown pulling at his lips, similar to when he’d been playing. He shook his head before turning and walking towards the door. Ferdinand watched the stranger put a hand on Hubert’s shoulder as he led him out, and Ferdinand’s own hands felt suddenly cold. The door swung shut, and he was gone.

Ferdinand wet his lips again, before his head whipped back to Edelgard. “For what?” he asked, a glint in his eyes. “A new song for a performance, perhaps?”

Edelgard let out a breath of a laugh, covering her mouth to stifle the noise. “Well, in a sense, I suppose, but not like the last one.” 

Ferdinand’s head cocked to the side, confused by what she meant, but any sort of performance at this point was worth hearing about. Perhaps he also performed in an orchestra or quartet, although covering his sound with anything other than just Edelgard’s accompanying piano would be blasphemous to say the least. But he would take what he could get for even an ounce of that heart wrenching feeling again. He would take anything at this point.

“It’s likely something he wrote for his band.”

Ferdinand paused halfway through raising his sandwich to his mouth, a piece of tomato falling with a wet thunk back onto his plate. 

“His… band?”

—

“Who was that?”

Hubert had his cigarette hanging from his lips, lighter in hand as he and Jeritza made their way away from the cafe and back towards campus. He raised his hand to cover and light the cigarette, and inhaled deeply, feeling the familiar burning in the back of his throat. He’d wished Edelgard had warned him someone else would be coming to lunch. Not that it bothered him, really, but he wasn’t a big fan of having things sprung on him. Especially when that thing had the same face as the man who’d been crying at his recital. 

“Hubert.” Jeritza’s voice cut off his train of thought, and Hubert looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. Jeritza was looking back at him, his own confused expression on his face. “Who was—”

“El’s friend.” He waved off the question, pulling the cigarette from his lips and holding it between two fingers. He exhaled, letting the smoke carry some of his stress away with it. “No idea. Never met him before.” 

Jeritza hummed, pulling out his phone. Hubert watched him tap through it for a moment, before he pulled up a photo and showed it to him. It was from the night of his recital. Jeritza had made a habit of taking pictures of people’s reactions to Hubert’s playing. The both of them tended to get a laugh out of it. The shock, the tears. Hubert knew the usual reactions. They’d become normal to him. Worse than normal: _expected_. 

The face Ferdinand was making wasn’t too far off the normal mark. There were tears in his eyes, and his hands were clutched together over his heart, but there was something about it that struck him as odd. He didn’t look sad like most of the subjects of Jeritza’s photos. He looked like he was in pain; as if hearing Hubert play had caused him some great anguish. Hubert’s brow furrowed. 

“He was like this the whole time.” Jeritza pocketed his phone, leaving Hubert staring at where it had been. “Looked like it was killing him to be there.”

“It was killing me too,” Hubert said with the faintest hint of a laugh. He paused, deliberating on his next thought before opening his mouth again. “Do me a favor and send that to me.”

They walked together to the fine arts building, falling into their normal silence. Hubert took advantage of the time to finish his cigarette, dropping the butt to the ground and stepping on it as he went. It didn’t take long for them to make their way to the third floor where the music lockers and practice rooms were, separating off to their own lockers.

Hubert pulled the photo up on his phone as he made to open the locker door.

Ferdinand von Aegir. Looking at it, it was almost hard to tell his expression. The tears were obvious, and his arms were raised as if to hold himself. He looked upset, but if that was all it was, Hubert wouldn’t have been interested. 

Being told that his music made people cry, or feel some sort of deep seated, forlorn emotion was nothing new. Ever since he could remember, he’d been told that his playing felt sad, as if there were no joy or hope left in the notes that he drew from his instrument. Others had gone so far as to say that he himself must be devoid of all joy, that only a tragically sad or lost man could make such heart wrenching music. But that wasn’t quite right. 

He’d gone through a few accompanists, each quitting after only a few weeks of playing with him, before he met Edelgard. She’d been new at the piano at the time, but blessed with incredible natural talent. She played with such delicacy that her sound felt as if it would shatter into a million pieces if disturbed. It was beautiful, and volatile, and Hubert fell in love with it almost instantly. The music they made together was something he held so close to his heart. 

It wasn’t a lack of joy that made him play the way he did. No, he never lacked joy when he played accompanied by her piano. That wasn’t what he felt. They just couldn’t hear it. 

A hand fell onto his shoulder and Hubert realized he’d been staring at the picture without actually opening his locker. He locked his phone, looking around at Jeritza, who had a guitar case slung over his shoulder. Jeritza raised an eyebrow at him, and Hubert quickly turned to pull his own case out of his locker. 

The two made their way down the hall, finding an empty practice room and closing the door behind them. Hubert took some papers out of his bag, while Jeritza pulled out his guitar.

“Did you write the bass line yet?”

Hubert shook his head, lifting his bass guitar from its case. “I’ll play by ear for now. You start, I’ll join in.”

—

Human hands are soft. The tips of the fingers especially. They’re sensitive, delicate, exposed to so much. But his hands weren’t soft. Not anymore. 

Hubert presses down on the strings of his bass guitar late in the evening, his little studio apartment bathed in the moonlight coming in through the open window. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the light when he’d come in, since the sun had still been up, and he was now too engrossed in what he was doing to even notice how dark it had become. He sat in his desk chair, the guitar resting across his thigh as he plucked at the strings, letting the sound reverberate in the small space. 

The hand curled around its neck was pale. His skin nearly shone in the moonlight, thin against his bones as he contorted it to reach the frets. He had no idea how long he’d been sitting there, the thought never even crossed his mind to check the time. It didn’t cross his mind that he was hungry either. Right now, the only thing that existed was him and this sound.

His hands weren’t soft. Heavy calluses covered his fingers and parts of his palms, blisters long since healed over and hardened. They didn’t bleed anymore when he would play too long. He’d bled enough by now that he could sit there the whole night and tomorrow all his hands would be was sore. And he may do just that. 

It hadn’t been that long of a day, not really. He’d had longer, definitely, but he was tired. His eyes were closed and his head swayed slightly as the low notes fell from his fingertips. 

The picture was still stuck in the back of his mind: the long ginger hair falling over his shoulders, hands clutched over his chest, tears sliding down his cheeks… the pained look on his face. Like he was hurting. Like he was watching as Hubert stood up on that stage and _screamed_ . Why the hell did he look like that? Hubert hasn’t been able to shake the thought all day, seeing Ferdinand’s horror-stuck face every time he let his mind wander. It wasn’t as if he could hear him. No one had ever heard him and he’d been playing for _years_. It was impossible. Wasn’t it?

There was a sound like a _snap_ and pain shot through his hand where he’d been gripping the frets harder than he’d realized. His eyes shot open and he let go, the strap around his neck catching his bass before it felt. He stared down at the neck, the string that had just broken hanging loosely from the guitar’s head, and a nice gash crossed his palm. 

“Fuck.”

It was bleeding, the deep red staining his skin and dripping down his forearm. Hubert groaned, standing and lifting the guitar off him, putting it down on his bed and heading to the bathroom to run his hand under the faucet. So much for not bleeding in however long. He let the water run over it until it ran clear, before shutting off the tap and looking at the cut. It wasn’t that deep, but spanned nearly the entire length of his palm. Blood still seeped from it, but slowly now, and he looked up to open his medicine cabinet, searching for a bandage.

He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror before he swung it open and paused. His hair was a mess, sticking out at odd places and visibly gross, and his eyes were bloodshot. It looked bad, even for him. He stared for a few moments, before shaking his head and pulling it open, finding what he needed to clean his hand. 

Sleep wasn’t going to come tonight. He knew that without having to lay down in bed and stare at the ceiling until the sun rose, but that’s what he did anyway. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to sleep. He did, desperately. But each time his eyes shut, he could see that expression again. That stupid expression that Ferdinand had no right to make. He didn’t know anything, but he still looked at him like _that_?

Sleep didn’t come, and Hubert left his bass on his bed when he left the apartment later that morning, the broken string stained slightly red at the ends. 


End file.
